


Wet Hot Starling City Summer

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: "the calm" spoilers, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, roy is so over his OTP sometimes, she bought him a bed you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  <i>“I don’t think I should let you buy me a bed,” Oliver protested, but even Roy could tell he wanted it pretty badly. The bed. And, you know, obviously sex with Felicity on the regular.</i> <b>SPOILERS for 3x01.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Hot Starling City Summer

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS: To my Rhinebeck housemates, K, R, and K, who basically co-wrote pieces of this in the car. Because we are insane people. :) And huge thanks to katelinnea for betaing!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to DC and Warner Bros.

Roy was pretty good at ignoring the never-ending Oliver & Felicity show by this point. As the team recovered from Slade’s attack and everyone started to chill the hell out, Oliver and Felicity’s interactions went from occasionally suggestive of something other than just friendship to overt, like, _pining_. They flirted, they gazed, they found stupid reasons to touch each other. 

It was sickening.

So over the last few months, Roy and Diggle had escalated their coping mechanism when it came to Oliver and Felicity’s super obvious little dance. Roy had gone from from exchanging pointed looks with Diggle to audible sighs of irritation while Diggle gave them exaggerated eye rolls.

Figured that the two lovebirds were way too preoccupied with each other to even _notice_. 

The only real escape was to just _ignore_ them. Oliver had been trying to teach Roy how to focus for months -- tune out the rest of the world and just exist in his own space or some shit -- but Roy felt like an asshole standing around clearing his mind of clutter and listening to his own breathing. Or whatever stupid new-age-y thing he was supposed to be listening to.

But finally, out of self-preservation, Roy learned to ignore the lovesick puppies and their pathetic attempts to pretend they were just friends and colleagues. He found his zen purely so he could _stop_ witnessing their non-stop ineffectual flirting.

He got so good at it, actually, that he missed the beginning of the most ridiculous floor show to date, only tuning in to what was going on once Diggle elbowed him. Roy looked up from the arrowhead he was working on and focused on those two knuckleheads.

They were standing way too close to each other (as always) and grinning into each other’s faces. Felicity leaned one hip into her workstation, and Oliver loomed over her, shirtless (of course, because Oliver was a preening show pony sometimes) and still a little sweaty from his workout.

It was disgusting. And that was _before_ Roy figured out what they were talking about.

“No,” Felicity said, shaking her head. “Firmness is important. Always, Oliver -- firmer is better.”

Roy’s eyebrows jumped up and he gave Diggle a look that said, _What the fuck are they talking about?_

“Cement is firm,” Oliver told her, smirking a little bit.

“No,” Felicity shot back, “Cement is _hard_ , and hard isn’t good.” She flushed a little, and if Roy weren’t completely _over_ these kinds of conversations, he’d probably find her ability to talk in unintentionally perverted circles kind of endearing. “I mean,” she continued, because why leave things be when she could just keep making it worse, “hard can certainly be good in… appropriate situations. But not in bed.” 

Roy choked on air and started to cough, eyes wide.

Felicity shook her head a little, and Roy was pretty sure Oliver was making that goofy face that he only ever directed at her. Diggle laughed silently, his shoulders shaking and one hand pressed over his mouth.

“Wait,” Felicity continued, her cheeks pink, “of course, _in bed_ hard is good. Just, not in _your_ bed,” she finished, poking Oliver in the chest. Then she closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose.

Roy was pretty sure he was going to pass out if he kept trying to suppress his laughter. He carefully put down the arrowhead he’d been working on and turned all the way around on his stool.

“Not in a _mattress_ , I mean!” Felicity all-but yelled. “Hard mattresses are bad. Other bed-related… hard things… are great.” She pressed her palm flat against her chest, biting her lip to contain whatever other terrible clarifications her brain wanted to spit out.

Oliver was smiling that wide, delighted smile at her. “Noted,” he said, so suggestively that it kind of made Roy uncomfortable. There were some things he had _no_ need to associate with his ex-girlfriend’s older, grumpy brother. Yuck.

“So you need something,” Felicity paused, her cheeks pink, but pushed through, “firm in your bed. _For_ your bed -- mattress. You need a firm mattress.”

Roy couldn’t take much more of their weird-ass mating ritual, so he plastered a fake smile on his face and asked, “What about a waterbed?”

Felicity jumped a little, and even Oliver, Mr. Always Be Aware of Your Surroundings Ninja Master Guy, flinched when he realized, yes, _other people_ were actually being forced to witness this trainwreck.

“A _waterbed_?” Felicity echoed, eyebrows raised in Roy’s direction. She wrinkled her nose.

Oliver shot Roy an inscrutable look and turned right back to Felicity. Because of course he did. “I always kind of wanted a waterbed,” he teased. About as mature as pulling her ponytail, Roy decided.

“Waterbeds sound terrible,” Felicity answered quickly. “Every time you move, the whole bed reacts and pushes back.” She shifted her body, probably miming something relatively innocent like hip-checking the theoretical waterbed mattress, only _of course_ that’s not what Oliver or Roy (or probably Diggle) got from her demonstration. Considering the context. 

Oliver made a strange wheezing noise, while Roy stared at her, dumbfounded. Did she honestly not hear the words coming out of her mouth? Was it possible she didn’t understand that discussing beds and movements and hardness was level ten flirting?

“Right,” Oliver managed finally, his voice full of humor and maybe a little bit of lust. “I’ve never slept in a waterbed,” he added, and oh, God, that little pause before he said “slept?” Roy was _totally_ about to gag. Oliver leaned _even closer_ to Felicity, which Roy hadn’t thought was possible without them actually making out, and said, “That sounds kind of interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, my God,” Diggle murmured, his hand moving up to cover his eyes. “I can’t believe this is still happening.” 

“Right?” Roy answered. Because seriously.

“Let me know when it’s safe to look,” Diggle added, and when Roy glanced over, he was massaging his temples with his eyes resolutely shut.

As usual, Felicity and Oliver were paying them no attention. She pointed at Oliver’s row of arrows and gave him a skeptical look. “If you think we’re going to buy a waterbed and put it where you and Roy fire _really sharp_ arrows around near _thousands of dollars worth of expensive electronics that would die in a flood_ , you are an insane crazy person.”

Oliver leaned even closer to her. “It’s cute that you think you can stop me.”

Felicity laughed right in his face. “Right. With what money are you buying this fabulous waterbed?”

“Hmmm,” Oliver answered.

Roy snickered and exchanged amused looks with Diggle. The oppressive sexual undercurrent to _everything_ between Oliver and Felicity was exhausting, but the other two members of Team Arrow heartily appreciated watching all five foot two inches of Felicity Smoak take the high and mighty Oliver Queen down a few pegs. Repeatedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Felicity answered smugly. “I’m buying you a bed. A _real_ bed. A bed in which you can do all the things you need to do in a-- You know what?” she interrupted herself, one hand held up in the air. “Let’s just stop there. No waterbeds. You need your body in peak physical condition, and that’s a job for a nice, firm--”

“Oh, my God,” Roy grumbled.

“-- _mattress_ ,” she finished, pausing to glare quickly at Roy and Diggle. “And that’s enough from you two,” she added.

“I don’t think I should let you buy me a bed,” Oliver protested, but even Roy could tell he wanted it pretty badly. 

The bed. And, you know, obviously sex with Felicity on the regular.

“I let you buy me a 3-D printer,” she argued, “and seven high-end monitors, never mind hardware with enough processing power to launch a Dragon.” 

Oliver tilted his head in confusion.

“A Dragon. Capital D. Not, like, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.”

Roy blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

“Neither do I,” Diggle agreed. “But I’m glad we’ve moved on from all the things Oliver needs to do in a bed.”

“Hey,” Oliver protested.

“Dragon, as in the commercial space shuttle that Elon Musk designed, not the fantastical creatures in _Game of Thrones_ and a million other stories,” Felicity rattled off. “Because what would high-end processing power have to do with actual fire-breathing dragons? Well, I guess the special effects process for _Game of Thrones_ would--” She stopped talking and pursed her lips for a second. “Which is besides the point.”

“What is the point?” Roy wondered.

“I’m buying Oliver a bed, and that’s that,” Felicity said, crossing her arms and grinning up at him some more.

Oliver sighed in exasperation. Really, really fake exasperation. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll let you buy me a bed.” 

Roy rolled his eyes. What a shocking plot twist.

“And a pillow,” Felicity added, beaming now. “And sheets. Now go shower and get dressed,” Felicity ordered, brushing her hand along the front of his shoulder. “You’re all sweaty.”

Roy had -- seriously -- about fourteen jokes he wanted badly to make, but Diggle elbowed him more sharply this time. “Fine,” Roy muttered. “But this better be it. I’d rather walk in on them three or four times than be subjected to more of _this_.”

Diggle glanced at the lovesick pair and turned back to Roy, a little desperately. “It _has_ to be it, doesn’t it? I mean, they’re going _bed shopping_.”

& & &

Roy took the steps down into the lair two at at time, unreasonably excited for a work day without those two fools simpering at each other. Because they went bed shopping, which is not a platonic thing you do with someone. Or at least it isn’t if you spend at least half of your day beaming at the other person like a half-wit.

So finally -- _finally_ \-- Felicity and Oliver reached what Roy had to assume was their boiling point, debating what kind of bed to buy with matching, goofy grins. And then they’d offered distracted waves to Roy and Diggle and left on their bed-buying mission.

And to have a whole lot of sex, Roy could only hope.

Which was a little weird, actually -- being so invested in the sex life of his mentor (and his ex-girlfriend’s formerly grumpy and disapproving older brother) and his friend (and de facto big sister). But if them knocking boots meant he and Dig could get some work done in peace? Well, then Roy wished them both multiple orgasms.

And maybe to take a day off and get all the gross lovey-dovey stuff out of their systems.

When Roy reached the floor of the lair, he didn’t see a blushing Felicity or a smug Oliver. (Or a smug Felicity and a blushing Oliver, which would’ve been about seventeen times more amusing.) Instead, Diggle was standing beside Felicity’s workstation, arms crossed and glaring at something Roy couldn’t see.

“Hey,” Roy greeted.

Diggle simply grunted.

“Where’s the happy couple?”

Dig looked over his shoulder and sighed heavily. “Come here.”

Roy took a step and then stopped, throwing his hands up in the air to ward off-- “They’re not, like, _currently banging_ over there, are they?” Because he couldn’t hear anything to suggest sexual shenanigans, but Dig looked pretty pissed off. “I know I said I’d rather walk in on them, but I was--”

“Would you just come look,” Diggle ordered gruffly.

Somewhat reluctantly, Roy moved to Dig’s side -- and looked down at a twin bed, perfectly made up with boring-ass, utilitarian sheets and one pillow. Roy blinked. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Diggle sighed.

Roy shook his head slowly, feeling kind of disappointed, because-- “Felicity has _no_ game.”

“What?” Dig turned a puzzled look his way.

“They debate the firmness of mattresses until she gets him to let her buy him a bed,” Roy said. “A _bed_. And then she buys him something a twelve-year-old would be embarrassed to sleep in?” You don’t seduce a guy by reminding him of his childhood. Unless he’s a freak or something.

Diggle seemed to be considering Roy’s point for a moment, giving the bed a measuring look. “Okay,” he conceded, “but let’s not pretend that _she’s_ the one with the problem here.”

“Oh, they _both_ have problems,” Roy agreed. Like being total dumbasses, apparently. “He’s stubborn as a mule and she’s completely oblivious.”

“No, she’s not,” Diggle protested. “That girl doesn’t have her hands all over me or you the way she does Oliver.”

Roy considered that. Felicity was the most openly affectionate member of the team for sure, but aside from patching them up, she only ever gave Roy and Diggle friendly hugs and pats on the shoulder or arm. Meanwhile, she and Oliver basically foreplayed their way around the lair every goddamn night, so maybe Diggle was right. “Okay,” he agreed, “but they spent hours _testing mattresses_ and still nothing?”

Diggle shrugged. “Maybe? I mean, _this_ bed doesn’t look slept in, so let’s hope--”

The security system chirped, and Roy turned to find the subjects of their speculation clambering down the stairs. Felicity was in full chatter mode, filling Oliver in about... _something_ , and neither of them even seemed to notice their teammates until they were maybe ten feet away.

“Hi, guys!” Felicity greeted, all smiles and cheer. Roy narrowed his eyes, looking for any sign that she’d had a _really_ good, really long night. No visible hickeys, no over-tired smiles. “Oh,” she said, glancing past them. “You saw the bed.” She twinkled up at Oliver. “We compromised.”

“Oh, God,” Diggle muttered, even as Roy came to the same conclusion. These two fools certainly didn’t _compromise_ the way they really should’ve, goddamnit.

Felicity frowned. “What? It’s a perfectly good bed. Right, Oliver? I mean, did you sleep okay last night?”

Oliver grinned down at her, still with that puppy-dog-who-wants-a-bone look. Both kinds of metaphorical bones. And Roy sighed so loudly he almost missed Oliver’s response: “I slept great, Felicity. Thanks again.”

“Seriously?” Roy practically shouted. Oliver and Felicity turned coordinating wide-eyed looks of confusion his way, while Diggle elbowed him, like, _excessively_ hard in the ribs. “Ouch,” Roy protested. 

Diggle gave him the eyebrows of judgment, and Roy backed down.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I… twisted my ankle.” It was a terrible cover, worse than Oliver’s usual bullshit, but neither Oliver nor Felicity seemed interested in pursuing the topic when they could just beam stupidly at each other some more. “I can’t take much more of this,” Roy told Dig. “I’m pretty sure this is actual torture.”

Oliver glanced over at them, blinking a little bit. “Torture? What? Something I need to know about?”

“Yes, actually,” Roy said, even as Diggle shook his head. 

Oliver looked puzzled. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently _nothing_ ,” Roy answered. And he just couldn’t deal with another night of this. “I’m gonna--” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “We get nights off, right? Like, vigilante sick days or something?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answered slowly. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Roy smiled tightly. “Everything is status goddamn quo.”

Felicity gave him that compassionate, big sister-ish look, which made Roy feel a little guilty for being so angry. But he was angry on her behalf, kind of. Or at least on her libido’s behalf. Which, again, kind of gross since she was like a sister to him.

She closed the distance between them and placed a hand lightly on his elbow, “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Okay, well, she asked, and that’s really all the invitation Roy needed to offer his opinion. He opened his mouth to blurt out something like _would you two just bang already??_ , but Diggle wrapped one of those stupidly big arms around his shoulders and propelled him towards the stairs. “He’s fine,” Dig said, and Roy was pretty sure his feet weren’t even touching the ground as Diggle moved him. “Just needs to clear his head.”

“Can we just lock them in a room together until they figure it out?” Roy asked, half-kidding, but also half-not-kidding. Because it wasn’t the worst idea in the world. Even if they didn’t figure anything out, he and Diggle would be spared hours of their irritating interactions. “A room with just a bed?”

Diggle shook his head. “They’ll figure it out soon,” he said, and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Roy. 

“You better be right,” Roy said, pausing with one foot on the lowest stair. “I have access to tranq darts, and I’m a pretty good shot these days.”

“Roy--”

“Desperate times, man,” he interrupted. “I can’t take much more of this. You can’t either.”

“Just go,” Diggle said, gesturing up the stairs. “I’ll see if I can’t drop some knowledge on these two idiots.”

Roy took two steps, then turned back. “Locked room with a bed and _no clothes_ ,” he said. “Feel free to include that alternative when you give him your little pep talk.” 

So Roy took the night off. And if he spent a little time researching what kinds of locked-room options were out there on the off chance he actually needed to resort to desperate measures, well, who could blame him? 

END


End file.
